Midterms and Magic: A Dimension 20 Fantasy High FanFic
by noobian
Summary: Hello everyone! This is my first real fanfic based upon the great and hilarious Fantasy High campaign of Dimension 20. This will follow the adventures of the OG Bad Kids as well as a new character. Watch as they all fight the perils of the adventurers' life plus the awkwardness of high school. Plus, what adventuring party doesn't need a surly dwarf!


**Midterms and Magic: A D20 Fantasy High FanFic**

**Chapter 1: The Beginning Begins**

It was a bright sunny morning in the neighborhood of Clearbrook in Elmville. As the sun peeks through some dark runed drapes, an arcane clock flips to read 7:30. The scene is immediately ruined by a loud blaring of heavy rock music, a chorus in Dwarven accompanying a cacophony of electric guitars and traditional dwarven horns and drums. In a simple steel-wrought bed, with runes along the bedposts, Thorin Ironanvel stirred. Half-asleep, he grabbed a ball-peen hammer from the nightstand, swinging wildly until it connected with the clock, cracking it and sending it clattering to the floor. With a groan, he sits up in bed, his shaggy rust-red hair in a mane around his rough dwarven features. He gave a big yawn and stretched, his thick hairy arms and broad shoulders strain against a thin white wife-beater shirt. He swung his stubby legs over the side of his bed and hops down. The clock buzzed on the ground, the gears clicking back into place, and runes of mending glowed as the glass and crystals mended themselves. Four small mechanical legs whirred and it set itself back to its rightful place on the nightstand.

Thorin shambled his way over to a large silver mirror, kicking little bits of mechanisms and dirty clothes out of the way as he does so. The room is bedecked with posters of magical war machines and dwarven heroes both ancient and modern and the floor dirty and strewn with dirty clothes, half-built machines, and spare tools strewn about. Aside from a steel bed and nightstand, there is also a large workbench overflowing with half-finished machines and a rolling cabinet of tools as well. He sleepily looks at himself, analyzing his look like it's another broken machine. His mane of red hair is wild, with licks sticking out in all directions, his matching beard and brows would be full and bushy on any other humanoid, but for a dwarf they were quite thin. His electric blue eyes look small and squinty under his sloping forehead and furrowed brow. He rolled his nearly non-existent neck and pulled his thick arms across his chest, his blackened fingers standing out against his pale and freckled skin. Though like most dwarves, he is not impressive in height, coming in at around 4'5" and was almost as wide, he still weighs almost 14 stone. He then walks over to a dresser, the front covered in industrial gears with a small keypad. Thorin typed a code, and with a whir and a hiss of pneumatics, three drawers pop open. He grabs his favorite outfit; a red long sleeve T-shirt with a golden USMC (United Solasian Marine Corps) on the chest, a pair of camo cargo pants that may or may not be army surplus, and an olive green ball-cap with a leather engraved flag of Solace on it. He also grabs a little hair tie from a box on the dresser. He pulls the messiest part of his hair back into a ponytail, then slides the ball-cap on over it.

From downstairs, a woman's voice cried out in thick Dwarvish, "Thorin, ya' better come and get your bonnie butt to breakfast! I'd hate to send ya' ta school on an empty stomach!" Thorin barks back in Dwarvish, "Comin' ma!"

Thorin grabbed his backpack, a drab olive-grey thing with pockets on pockets and slides a throwing ax on his belt, and a crossbow and quiver into a series of straps on his backpack. He thundered down the steps to await a warm set of thick pancakes and syrup. He smiled and dug into his pancakes, as his mom, Ilda Ironanvel, sipped a mug of coffee, having just got home from her night-shift as an ER surgeon at the St. Owen's Hospital, still in her scrubs. His mother was a squat woman, but where Thorin had hard stony features, Ilda had softer features. Her blonde hair was tied behind her head in a tight bun. She kept her face completely shaven, and there was a small scar across her chin where she had been grazed by a goblin's arrow during her time as a combat medic.

Ilda trilled at Thorin as he shovels in the pancakes, "Ya' know yer father'd be so proud to see you off on your first day. He always said the time o' his life was at Aguefort." She nods over to a framed picture of an incredibly stout Dwarf in a navy blue Solasian Marine dress uniform, the epaulettes denoting him as an officer of the Marine Artillery, on the kitchen island.

Thorin swallowed and said, "Yah, I know he would. Any news on when he'll be back at the FOB?" He looks over at the frame then drops his eyes, a weird mix of pride and sorrow in his throat. Thorin's father, Captain Daine Ironanvil, an artificer with the Solasian Marine Corps and a captain of a magical artillery battery, was currently serving on an operation to the west of Mt. Shieldgaze, trying to deter a horde of feral orcs that were coming down from the Mountains of Chaos.

Ilda shook her head, "No, I'm sorry, sweety. But we should hear in a few days, okay? I'm sure you'll be able to tell him all about your new school when he gets back."

Thorin sighed, "Alright, well, get some rest okay? I'll see you when I get home." He scarfed down the rest of his pancakes and heads over to a steel tray near the back door with many dirty pairs of boots. His mother hummed in affirmation as she headed upstairs. Thorin pulled on a well-worn pair of sturdy auroch leather steel-toed boots. Thumping over to the front door, he grabbed his favorite thing in the whole world; Cinderbane, his hand-forged sledgehammer. The head is a solid lump of steel with mithril layering creating small silver ripples in the gun-grey metal, while the handle is a dark maple, with dwarven runes rippling with a low white light, leading down to a custom carved pommel that fit perfectly in his calloused hands, allowing him to beat steel for hours without fear of it slipping. Thorin smiled, remembering the long week two summers ago where Thorin and his father spent hammering out the head and carving the handle in their backyard forge, Thorin's first true great work of forging.

Hefting the hammer over his shoulder, he walked down the road to the bus stop, where his next-door neighbor, Ostentatia Wallace, a fellow dwarf and sophomore at the Auguefort Adventuring Academy, was leaning against a street lamp, looking at a crystal with her earphones in. "Hey," Thorin tries to greet her. She barely turns and gives him a bit of an acknowledgement before going back to her phone. Thorin grunts and pulls out a few gears and springs from his pockets, fiddling with them as he gets on the bus and heads off to school.

The bus was fairly empty aside from Thorin, Ostentatia, and a blonde elven girl who sat alone in the back giggling to herself being some of the few riders. Clearbrook was a nicer neighborhood, and most of the kids went either to the Hudol, a preppy school for the more academic study of magicks, or had their own cars to drive to Aguefort. When the old elemental-powered bus rumbled up in front of the school, there were already groups of students gathered on the old brick and ivy front steps. Thorin kept his head down and blundered his way through till he almost barreled into the back of a towering half-orc. Thorin was about to grumble an apology when the half-orc doubled over and a small, gnomish tin flower in his hand hit the ground. Thorin took two steps around the massive orc, looking at a confident half-elf with his arms spread in triumph to the crowd that had gathered.

"I'm Fabian Seacaster! Son of Bill Seacaster! And I'm here to be great!" The cocky half-elf proclaimed, facing toward the crowd. Thorin turned back to the great half-orc. He had little in his heart for orcish folk, they were why his Da may not come home after all, but he did know what it felt like to be made small. Before he turned to face this Fabian, son of Bill, his heart skipped a beat, as kneeling beside the orc was a cute human girl, with auburn hair and freckles, in a tie-dye shirt and holding a massive curled staff.

Thorin, with new resolve, turned back to Fabian, and shouted, "Aye, if yer' going to hit someone, pick on someone yer' own size!" Thorin's Common was heavily laden with a dwarvish accent. The half-elf turned, seemingly confused by who was talking to him, and Thorin slammed the head of Cinderbane down on the half-elf's toes, feeling a few of them crack under the head of the hammer. "That's right ya' righteous prick, a dwarf is calling you out." Fabian yelped, finally deigning to notice Thorin. Behind him, Thorin heard the cute redhead console the mumbling half-orc, "You seem non-violent, and I think that's really cool. Violence is never the answer." Thorin saw Fabian's eyes go wide, and Thorin rolled out of the way and readied his hammer. The orcish boy had gone into a rage and Thorin rolled just in time to not be flattened. Instead, the half-elf caught a slender but still massive green fist in the face.

Thorin felt his heart leaping into his throat, the red eyes of the orcish rage like something out of the war stories his father told him. Thorin held his ground and twirled his hammer in one hand, as the orcish boy wheeled around, looking for another target. Funnily enough, he was still carrying the tin flower in his hand, incongruous with the waves of rage coming off the rest of him. Luckily for him, a massive red dragonborn in a suit and holding a cricket bat burst through the crowd, and hoisted Fabian and the half-orc up off their feet.

"Alright, alright, that's enough! And on day one, the bell hasn't even rung yet." The dragonborn shouted. Thorin quickly lowered his hammer, knowing that brandishing weapons at a teacher was only going to make things worse, but he stayed to ensure this Fabian was truly in trouble. "Now look here, what are, what are you, freshmen? How, why did this even start?" The imperious administrator commanded the two in his clawed grasp.

"I don't know, he hit me." The half-orc mewled, his eyes having returned to an inky black, his rage having left him.

"Well, I had to let this one know I wasn't going to take any of his shit." Fabian protested, gesturing at the skinny, mewling half-orc opposite him. "And that one," Fabian gestured toward Thorin, "broke my foot for it."

"Shit? It looks like he's holding a flower?" The dragonborn questioned.

"Hey, the greatest attackers sometimes put up a facade, that they might sneak their way. . . I don't need to explain myself to you, I'm Fabian Seacaster." The half-elf stammered out an excuse, as though his name was enough to see him out of this trouble.

"You 100% need to explain yourself to me, I am Vice-Principal Goldenhoard." The dragonborn roared.

"I'm sorry I got mad at you. You can still have the flower if you want." The half-orc extended a meek hand out to Fabian, with the tin flower still there, a bit more bent than before. Thorin looked around and saw the redhead girl on her knees, hands clasped. Ah, she was a cleric, probably of Helio, judging from the corn cob on her shirt. Despite his misgivings for Helio and his followers, Thorin still couldn't help but blink at her. He always did have a thing for redheads.

"Don't, kid, don't give him the flower. He has absolutely earned no congeniality from you at all." The Vice-principal responded, a note of concern for the half orc in his voice.

Bashfully, the orc admitted, "I hit him too, so. . .we're even."

The dragonborn looked resigned, "Alright, well, that's immediate detention for both of you. First day, after school." The dragonborn dropped them and he handed them both a red detention slip.

"Fine!" the half-elf conceded, as he stormed off into the school.

"I'll see you two in detention after school." He fumed, smoke literally pouring out his nostrils. "Good grief is there any other nonsense happening here?" The dragonborn's purple eyes come to rest on the hammer in Thorin's hands. Thorin immediately dropped the head of the hammer. "Young man, I can appreciate the need to defend another student, but tell me, did Fabian hit you as well?" the dragonborn questioned. Thorin lowered his eyes and shook his head, "No sir, I just. . ."

The dragonborn clucked his teeth, "I understand that you dwarves are all about honor and grudges, but you still have detention. If I find you two continuing this grudge, it will lead to more trouble." Thorin tried to raise a protest, but found himself stuck in a dutiful silence. As the vice principal turned around, Thorin hefted his hammer back over his shoulder, and followed the crowd into the school.

As he went in, he weaved around a little goblin with a briefcase talking to a tall and pretty half-elf girl in a preppy sweater and skirt and a tall blonde jock dude in a matching letter jacket to Fabian. Thorin walks around them into the gym, though he was surprised to hear a metal crash behind him. Thorin found a seat kind of by himself on the bleachers, and pulled his bundle of gears and springs out, fiddling with it some more as he waited for the assembly to start. As he was inspecting his work, he saw a tiefling down in the front row reach her hand up to the fire alarm. Thorin raised his eyebrows, but then the vice principal announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, your principal Arthur Aguefort!" A few kids started to clap, including the red headed cleric girl and the briefcase goblin, now covered in trash.

A dapper old man with a purple suit and a long white beard produced a teacup from thin air and began his speech. "Welcome, one and all, to another exciting year at the Aguefort Adventuring Academy, where we train the next generation of adventurers. And what is an adventurer? One who goes on adventures? I say that an adventurer is a hero, and what is a hero? A hero is someone with the strength of heart, courage of spirit and the might of will to go to strange lands and enact violence on things there. We go to places where there are things that must be destroyed, and we destroy them. Wandering from town to town, getting into trouble, meeting in flophouses and taverns, and getting into scrapes with the law, and otherwise finding ourselves in all sorts of tomfoolery and shenanigans, sometimes violent, sometimes fatal. Yes, fatal. And a hero is a violent wanderer who enacts their will bloodily and with strange magicks upon the world."

At this point, Thorin had thoroughly tuned out, tightening springs and wires and shaping small pieces of foil that he pulled from his pockets. His tongue poked out from his beard as he held up the small mechanism to his eye, trying to thread a copper wire through a small hole. It was beginning to take shape as Thorin tested a few of the springs and joints to ensure they were working. After a bit, there was a big burst of light and the principal vanished from the stage. Thorin snapped back to attention as the vice principal went through some of the various orientations, club open houses, and tryouts that were available on the first day. Thorin decided against the bloodrush trials, he had played bloodrush back at Oakenshield Middle School, but he just didn't feel like his time would be spent well by playing sports. Plus, if that Fabian was on the team, there was no reason he would want any part of it.

Thorin filed his way out with the rest of the students and made his way down to the basement of the school, where there were thick concrete walls and large industrial pipes. After meandering around a few maintenance rooms he arrived in the artificer's classroom, and after cranking open a door that was halfway between a normal classroom door and a submarine hatch, he found himself in paradise. In the middle of a fairly large classroom, there were sets of crystal computers and desks for compiling designs, and ringing the classroom were a series of work tables with individual sets of tools. From the far side of the classroom, he could see a door leading to a room full of heavy machinery. The room rang with the falling of hammers from the far room, and the smaller dings from the worktables were music to his ears. There were students of all kinds there; humans, genasi, orcs, and even a few elves and half-elves in the mix, but most of the students were gnomes or fellow dwarves.

As Thorin started to make his way over to a free workspace, from the back popped a dwarf with a completely blackened face from ash, spared only around his eyes matching a pair of goggles he had in his white stringy hair. As the elder dwarf made his way over there, a full tool-belt jingling as he went, Thorin laid his backpack down, and placed Cinderbane up on the workbench. The dwarven professor came up beside Thorin, passing an inquisitive eye over the mighty weapon. "That's truly a great piece of machinery. Oh, and there's mithril infused in the head too. Are the spells really touch activated? Some of them look a little out of order..." Thorin tried to stammer out an explanation, but the professor continued, "The handle could be fitted a bit better, but only if you mean to pound a hole in dragonhide."

Thorin looked up, the dwarven professor had his eyes locked on the weapon in front of him. "I assume you must be Professor Tomblast?" Thorin asked in Common. The professor was shorter even than Thorin, and was easily approaching his 300th name day. Professor Tomblast looked Thorin up and down, then smiled and replied in Dwarvish. "You must be Thorin Ironanvil." He held out his hand, it was thick, with rough skin in a shade of midnight black from years of soot from the forge. "I knew yer father, he was one of my favorite students when he came through Aguefort, oh what was it. . . 25 years ago now"

Thorin gave a weak smile. "That would be me. My father told me a lot about ya'. Said yer' the one who really made him the artificer he is now." Thorin turned back to the weapon, "But yer' right, I can't quite get the right series of runes." He demonstrated a few taps to the runes on the handle, and nothing happened. The professor squinted, then turned back to Thorin, "Well, ya've got the runes in the wrong order. That's a simple fix. Do ya' have the right carving tools on ya'?"

Thorin shook his head. "No," The professor smiled and nodded, "Yer' first assignment, work on those runes and get a ray of frost by lunch." He handed over a parchment from his pack, covered in dwarven runes. "Supply closet's over there by the main door, we have regular and enchanted anvils in the back, and there's all the small tools ya' need at yer station. I would say larger hammers are in the back, but it looks like ya brought yer own. There's range for testing is two doors down, ta' the left, if you want to improve that throwing axe a yers. But, ya must get my permission to use the forge or to step out to use the range. I have a clairvoyance spell running in the range at all times, so no funny business," the professor pointed and explained.

Thorin nodded, "Of course sir. I'm well aware of the rules." The professor chuckled, "Aye, well, you are yer father's boy. He got detention too his first day. He was defending some poor halfling girl's honor and smacked uh. . . oh, the barbarian teacher, Porter Cliffbreaker with his smithing hammer. They were both students at the time." Before Thorin could respond, there was a boom and a low cloud of green gas spilled from the back room. The professor bounded off, mumbling many dwarven profanities as he went.

Thorin chuckled and got to work, losing himself in the process of translating and carving runes. He worked and tested, worked and tested, shaving down old runes and carving new ones. Little images of diagrams and instructions danced in his head, dwarven runes of the right spells to inlay floated up from the piece in front of him. By the end, the runes running along his handle strap glowed with a light icy blue. As a finishing touch, Thorin took a etching tool and etched the weapon's name and the anchor and globe of the USMC into the pommel. However, before he got the time to truly test it, the bell rang for the end of the introduction period.

As he was packing up, the professor came back around, "Now that is truly magnificent, let me see. . ." The professor tapped a series of runes on the handle, and the hammer pulsed with a white light and the large lamp on the desk froze over, "Good work, seems like you have the basics. We'll get to more advanced crafting and infusions later. Off you go."

Thorin plodded along with some of the other students, having pulled his little mechanism of wires and springs out and was fiddling with it again as he walked back up to the assembly hall. Once there, he again sat in a corner by himself, as some of the students had started to form little groups from their various orientation events. The principal, Arthur Aguefort, got up to speak.

"Concluding this our first day together at the Auguefort Adventuring Academy, we will now begin the wonderful process of the day of fellowship. You all will have the rest of the afternoon to meet with the friends you've made and form your first adventuring parties. This, most critical afternoon will be you banding together for the rest of your time here at Aguefort. I hope you will find the people that you have the most in common with and that you feel the most excited about becoming heroes and solving the problems of the world through violence and strange arcana."

The vice principal then quickly grabbed the mic from the principal and growled, "Except those with detention, you will be expected in detention." With that, the assembly was dismissed, and Thorin reluctantly plodded along to a small group of students assembled around Goldenhoard, including Fabian, the half-orc, the briefcase goblin, the blonde elf from the bus, and a punk-looking tiefling. Goldenhoard was explaining some of the rules of detention and the room they needed to be in immediately after lunch. As Thorin was sitting there in the back just tapping his foot, he looked over and blushed a bit as the red-headed cleric bounded over after having what seemed to be a big argument with the coach.

"Hey guys," the red-haired girl asked after pulling up next to Fabian and handing her red slip to the vice principal with a strange look of triumph. Gods, there was something about her that Thorin couldn't put his finger on that made his heart skip. Thorin immediately began pondering the scuffs on the end of his boot.

The half-elf looked at her puzzled, surprised as to what this seemingly good-natured girl had done to get detention. As they started walking to the lunchroom, he asked "What did you do?"

"I bore false witness," the cleric whispered, barely audible.

"What is that?" Fabian asked, as though he had never heard of religions or sin. Dwarves had a similar concept, but it was mostly classified under general oath breaking. Thorin rubbed his chest, feeling his familiar bronze and ruby pendant of the eye of his clan's patron, Gorm Gulthyn. It lightly clinked against an old pair of his dad's dog tags.

"I wanna do that," the tiefling chimed in. Whether being purposefully sacrilegious or similarly ignorant, Thorin couldn't tell. Tieflings are a strange bunch.

The elven girl chimed in, in a voice that rang like a tiny bell, "It means she lied." The half-elf still didn't get it, "To who?" Thorin grumbled, "Before the gods of her fathers' you ignorant prick." The half-elf didn't seem to notice.

"To . . . before a higher power. Yeah, it's kind of compli. . .What did you guys do?" The human pivoted, clearly eager to learn more about the rest of them.

The half-orc mumbled and nodded to Fabian, "We punched each other." The cleric nodded, "Oh yeah, I remember that." She turned to Thorin, confused, "And you were there too, right? But I didn't see what you did. . ." Thorin's little heart did a flip. She had noticed him! He decided to table the disappointment about not seeing his valor for later.

Thorin cleared his throat, "Umm, I smashed Fabian here's foot with ma' hammer." He nodded to the half-elf. The half-elf said nothing but wrinkled his nose.

The half-elf, wanting to change the conversation, claimed, "I'm too good at sports." He proclaimed, seemingly uninterested in a conversation that didn't paint him in his best light. This provoked giggles from the whole group, as though most people already hadn't heard about his fight on the steps. Hell, half the people here were involved in it somehow.

Keeping the mood merry, the tiefling chimed in, "I couldn't eat this steak that was a ghost steak. I like couldn't pick it up." That got some puzzled looks from the group, though many, including Thorin, chuckled at the image.

The elven girl spoke up, "I stole a book because my stupid sister told me it was a good idea." Her voice was cracking a bit, as though this was the worst thing that could happen to her. The tiefling drew closer to her, "I tried to get you out of that. . ." she exclaimed. The cleric chimed in, "It was really cool how honest you were about that, though," trying to lend support through soothing tones.

The whole group turned to the little goblin dressed in a well worn vest and dress shirt and a newsboy cap expectantly waiting for him to share. "I stole some tea" was his curt contribution, with no further explanation.

A gleam rang in the cleric's eyes as she mumbled, "Wow, so many thieves." Thorin thought about that one, then remembered there was something about Helio spending time with a group of thieves on Earth. Gods above, this girl was committed.

They got to the lunch room, and after some brief protestations from Fabian, they started to work their way through the line when a massive shadow passed over Thorin. A red and green blur shoved the cleric and grabbed her bible from her arms, hucking the holy book into an open vat of creamed corn. Thorin readied Cinderbane, looking at the massive back of another orc, this one as tall as his fellow "bad kid" but much more muscular. The cleric stared back at the orc, a look of clear defiance on her face.

The muscular orc growled, "That's what you get for boring. . .what you did. . .that's what you get for that " Apparently, words were not this student's strong suit.

"Good thing I already know that thing by heart," the red-head responded, standing perfectly straight with the righteousness that was only found in clerics.

Kind of shying away from the fight, the elven girl's eyes glowed blue for a second as a translucent blue hand came out from her and plucked the Bible from the vat of corn goop. It zipped into the young wizard's hands, still covered in a mess of corn. Thorin offered a cleaning rag from one of his pockets, and they cleaned off most of the goop before handing it back to the cleric. The orc, seemingly satisfied with his work, had already stomped off to a large table of similarly clad boys who were various stages of muscle-bound.

They sat down and, as there was no room in the crowded lunchroom, sat together at a table near the back. They finally went around and made introductions. The towering but timid half-orc was named Gorgug Thistlespring, and apparently he was raised by gnomes. Thorin tried to break the ice by asking about how he made the flower, but was met with silence. The shy blonde elven girl in the faux prep-school uniform was Adaine Abernant, daughter of the elven ambassador, and apparently she came here after failing her entrance exams to the upper school of Hudol. She also only lived a few blocks from Thorin, but lived in a big gated estate in the truly nicest part of Clearbrook and possibly all of Elmville. The little dapper goblin was Riz Gukgak, apparently he was an unlicensed private investigator according to his business cards he handed out to everyone. The punk tiefling was Figueroth Faeth, though she insisted that everyone call her "Fig", and Fig only. Fabian rambled endlessly on about himself, and Thorin made a point not to engage, deciding that horking down the creamed corn and tuna surprise, though truly ghastly, would be more enjoyable that re-airing the grudge he had against the half-elf. Thorin finally sat back and was grooming bits of corn out of his beard with a little iron comb he kept on him when he finally learned the red-haired girl's name, Kristen Applebees. By the time they had all become somewhat acquainted, the bell rang for the end of the lunch period, and the group of bad kids shuffled off to the appointed room for detention.

Waiting for them was the vice principal and a gnome with deep blue and watery eyes, that looked like he was already on the verge of crying. The various students sat in a loose arc of desks facing the vice principal and this other faculty member. Thorin sat toward the back at the center of their arc, leaned Cinderbane on the side of the desk, clunked his heavy boots up on the desk, and made the final touches to the little mechanism he had been toying with all day. By now, it resembled a brass and tin automaton of a soldier.

Thorin stuck a key in the back of the automaton and began winding as the Vice Principal started: "Well, well, well, troublemakers, and yeah, . . . Kristen." The cleric was sitting to Thorin's left, between Fabian and Riz, with a perfect innocent smile on her face. Goldenhoard continued, "Troublemaking bothers me at a deep level. This school can be a dangerous place. Students put a lot on the line here. And you, with your tomfoolery, your jackanapery, and your shenanigans are a liability that cannot be allowed." Small puffs of smoke came from his nostrils. "Mr. Gibbons will handle your disciplinary action while I'm gone." The dragonborn stormed out.

Thorin finally let go of his key, the little toy soldier marched ten paces one way, did a perfect about face, marched ten paces the other way, then presented arms and fired, a little soundless puff of smoke coming from the barrel of the gun. Thorin looked up to see if anyone had caught what he had done, but the other kids were staring either at the gnome or their shoes. Thorin grimaced and picked up the automaton, and carefully started to disassemble it and stick the various gears and springs back in his pockets.

The gnome hoisted himself up to sit on the edge of the teacher's desk, and in a watery calm voice asked, "Okay, so . . . how do we feel about what we did?" He pointed to Adaine, who had her arm raised perfectly straight, "Yeah, right here."

The prim young wizard questioned, "I technically have diplomatic immunity and, and do I have to be here?"

"I feel bad." Gorgug interrupted. Thorin gave a half nod in affirmation. The half-orc was clearly a big softie, and no matter Thorin's fear of his rage, the boy seemed to be the kind to be very hard to anger. "I didn't mean to punch you. I got so mad." He nodded over to Fabian in apology. Thorin raised his eyebrow. Sure the half-orc had certainly been the harder hitting of the two, but few would disagree that his hit was more justified than Fabian's cold-cocking him to make a point.

The half-elf stammered, "I didn't do. . . I did punch you, but it wasn't worth it. But I shouldn't be here, my crime was being too good for the bloodrush team." Thorin didn't know anything about that, but he remembered Fabian droning on about the tryouts. Apparently, something had happened so that he wasn't on the team and got detention instead.

Immediately, that was drowned out by other students. Thorin and the others immediately responded with variations of "You punched him." Thorin smiled a bit as the pompous bully was getting the dressing down he deserves, plus it didn't seem that any of the others remembered that he had broken Fabian's foot.

The half elf waved his hands around, "I also admitted that I. . .I also admitted that I punched him." He finally coughed out, tone much more resigned.

The gnome stood perfectly calm, those watery eyes and rosy cheeks betraying no emotion other than calm. "Wow, okay, so that's a lot of feelings, okay? How's everything at home guys? Everything good?" With that question, Thorin pulled down his cap and crossed his arms, hoping that the other kids nor the counselor could catch the look of worry and fear in his eyes. Seeing no immediate answer, he continued, "Okay, now you know. . ."

Kristen piped up, a look of concern and worry on her face. Thorin followed her eyes to rest on Fig, who had tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. "Why are you crying?" the sympathetic cleric asked.

The tiefling stammered, "Why. . .why am I crying?" Kristen and the guidance counselor nodded along, beckoning her to share. Fig took a deep breath, and started, "Um, because I guess you tapped into something that, you know, maybe home isn't great. Maybe home's not great." A solitary tear rolled down the rocker's face.

The counselor only gave a curious tilt of the head. "Okay, now those are strong feelings okay, and I'm here to talk about anything, - yes, right here." Adaine again had her hand perfectly straight up in the air.

"Can't we just do lines instead of talking?" the young elf inquired.

"Yes, Jesus Christ," Fabian agreed. Thorin rolled his eyes. When two elves agreed it was never a good idea.

"Wow, wow, strong feelings all the way around." Thorin readjusted his cap and put his feet down, confident that he wasn't going to get called out by this soundtrack of a counselor. "Now, there's something I wanna to talk to you all about. . ." the gnome continued, but then a piercing female scream echoed down the hallway. Riz was the first to act, with his chair being closest to the door, and was a low green blur, with Fabian right on his heels. Thorin hopped down after them, hefting Cinderbane and jogging after them as fast as his dwarven legs could carry him. Kristen looked around for a moment then followed, quickly passing Thorin as he jogged down the hall, followed by Fig yelling something about a jailbreak. Arriving outside the lunchroom the same time as Thorin were Fig and Adaine, who apparently took more convincing. Fig crashed through the lunchroom doors, yelling "Doreen!"

Inside the cafeteria was a scene of chaos. Flitting around, tearing at walls and banners, chewing on tables, and ransacking the kitchen were waist-high (for Thorin) giant cobs of corn, their leafy talons and cob teeth bared menacingly. At the food counter, Doreen the lunch lady stood, her ladle glowing, as she cackled menacingly. One of the little corn monsters landed on the table in front of Kristen and bared it's starchy fangs. "So cute!" was the response of their cleric. Other members of the party murmured in agreement. Thorin kind of squinted his eyes before he relented that if you took the edge off, they could maybe be called cute.

From the front, Doreen swung her head towards them, her posture slouched at an unnatural angle. "Hey kids, it's lunch time again, because we had lunch earlier, but bad lunch this time," the woman cackled.

"I feel like if you have to explain the joke then it's not a good joke," Kirsten quipped. Thorin wondered if her love for corn was blinding her towards the potential danger around them.

"It was bad last time," Fabian added. Again, no sense of urgency with either of them.

"No!" Fig shouted. Whether angry at Doreen or the other two, Thorin wasn't sure. He didn't have time to think about it, as from the kitchen slurched a giant pseudopod creature made entirely out of creamed corn, one giant mouth across it's approximation of a face. It gurgled in something resembling anger as it faced the party. Thorin took a deep breath, fighting down a trickle of fear already working its way to his heart. He spun Cinderbane in his hand and braced himself, knowing that the next few minutes may very well be his last.

**And I'm going to need all of you to roll initiative!**


End file.
